


Super wolf saves the day, but not the curly fries

by Blitzdrake



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hale's Ass is a national treasure, Intern Erica, Intern Isaac, Intern Stiles Stilinski, Just a splash of comedy, Lunch stalking, M/M, One-Sided Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Reporter - Derek Hale, Secret Identity, Stiles Stilinksi may be a little obsessed, Superman AU, for now, super hero AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blitzdrake/pseuds/Blitzdrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows just what he needs to be happy in life. One chance to write an awesome article and finally get noticed at the Beacon Tribune. An end to the inglorious life of photo-and-coffee-slave interning. Oh and a chance to get mild mannered, very un-mild bodied, and hella-hot-faced Derek Hale alone for ten minutes so he can make his case for why they'd be perfect for each other. With power point slides.  Set to a playlist of Billy Joel. </p><p>This is what Stile needs to be happy. What he has to settle for; however, is waiting for Greenberg to finally hurt himself into early retirement, editing Finstocks awful advice column, and some date-adjacent time with Derek. And it's observation, not stalking, thank-you-Mr.-judgemental-Lahey, accompanied with some cheer-me-up curly fries.</p><p>But, this is Beacon City, where the criminal to civilian ratio is so off the charts the old lady you help cross the street is more likely to mug you than give you hard candy...and because it's Beacon City, Stiles can't even have that!  </p><p>But just as his lunch takes a turn for the surprising, Super wolf saves the day, and then it's up, up, and oh...hey where did Derek go?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Super wolf saves the day, but not the curly fries

“One story guys. I just need one big story and I could totally snazz up my resume. Then I would be a shoe-in for the day Greenberg steps down on permanent medical leave, and clears up a spot on the Local Beats! Or the day he gets run-over by a news van in the parking lot. Or fired. From a canon. Again…” An unamused glare from his lunch partners spurs Stiles on, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not gonna do it myself. I’m just saying it’s Greenberg, something will happen…dude spends more time in the hospital than at his desk! Remember the petting zoo-piece he was researching when the crazed goat got loose and they tranqued him? Tranqued Greenberg…not the goat. Or when he got stabbed by the giant scissors at the stadium ribbon cutting ceremony? And yeah man just…he’s gonna be out one day and I need this break. Do you have any idea how much it sucks being an intern?”

  
Across from him in the booth the fashionista-twinterns, Isaac and Erica, baby-darlings of the Beacon Tribune Fashion and Entertainment section, just roll their eyes with an appalling lack of compassion!

“Yeah, Stiles,” Erica flashes her light blue Beacon News badge with its ‘Intern’ in bold white letters under his nose, “I might just know a little about that.”

“Oh hell no. That’s not the same. You two are barely interns. You live like the dream-tern life. You get to go stare at beautiful people in beautiful clothes and write about it and snap pictures. Your life is like the last 20 minutes of the Devil wears Prada except your boss takes you to New York over the weekend for shows instead of Paris.”

“Lydia is not the devil,” Isaac shouts back, before ducking his head and warily checking the nearby tables as he remembers how many other Beacon Tribune employees come to the diner for lunch.

“Wrong take away from that, Isaac. I was just saying you can’t compare your internships under Lydia ‘I-don’t-write-about-fashion-news-I-make-fashion-news’ Martin with mine. I’m basically a glorified camera boy who occasionally has to fact check Finstock’s advice column. My day consist of taking shots of the local petting zoo’s new goat, before and after it assaults Greenberg, and then coming back to pick the two lucky readers who get their questions answered on tomorrow’s edition of 'Finstock’s Finspirations.’”

“But if I can just get some writing time, just one big story during one of Greenberg’s regular hospital stays, I could be in there. I know it. My own guaranteed spot writing the Local Beats section, freedom from being everyone’s camera-gopher, no more coffee runs…”

“And of course Greenberg’s office is across from Derek’s,” Erica throws in with a smirk. Beside her Isaac snorts and 'screw them and their snark-sense…’.

“Well,” Stiles struggles for calm and collected, “I mean yeah. I guess it is. If you say so.”

“Please,” Isaac opens his mouth and Stiles wishes for a moment that it was already fall so Lydia would lift the Isaac-Scarf-Embargo. A scarf would be really useful for gagging Blondie-blabs-a-lot-Barbie-Lahey. “There’s no way you didn’t know that. You know his office location, his work schedule, his favorite latte-”

“I know everyone's favorite latte. Hello? Office coffee slave remember? That’s the kind of intern hell I’m trying to get away-”

“Stop fronting stiles,” Erica overruled the attempt at distraction, “you make us write our orders down. But you never have to ask him for his order. You just 'Know.’ Just like you know his favorite team, his favorite movie, his favorite lunch spot, even his favorite booth.” And with a raised eyebrow Erica turns to look over her shoulder at the booth two behind their own where the most gorgeous man to ever grace the Beacon Tribune and News Media office was sitting. Alone. Facing their booth. The booth Stiles had insisted on them picking when he dragged the twinterns to lunch. Just one empty table and two annoyingly-observant fellow interns between himself and sharing a table with Derek. Who should never have to eat alone. That was a crime all its own. That he wasn’t sitting with someone. Stiles. That he wasn’t sitting with Stiles. Yup. Criminal negligence. Like, call the cops, (but not dad, leave the chief out of this till date number five please, there are rules, thank you), break out the restraints, and cuff Derek to Stiles to prevent such a horrible thing from ever happening again.

“Oh my…seriously Stiles?” Isaac grumbled as he turns his head to follow Erica’s gaze and spies the button-up-blazer-tie-and-glasses wearing Grecian God. Who shouldn’t possibly be able to look that good in just a tie and glasses. Like it should be illegal to make the dress code look that good. Like call the police and get the…'And we’re back to restraints and cuffing him to Stiles.’ Which again Stiles is fine with.

Isaac doesn’t look nearly as bemused and dreamy as he should when looking at Derek Hale and really, they have Isaac in Fashion and he can’t even tell when he’s looking at model-worthy perfection? Lydia has her work cut out for her if she wants to mold Isaac into being worthy of stepping into her Louis Vuittons one day and writing for the F & E. 'Which, Stiles would pay money to see. Isaac wearing heels, that is, not his writing.’

Picturing Isaac wobbling in heels makes it easier to suffer the arched eyebrow of judgment he is leveling at Stiles as he speaks with the tones of one who has suffered long and hard, rather than the tones of one who has been blessed to look upon divine glory that is Derek Hale, “Did you seriously drag us to this diner, which we HAD to rush to, to make sure we had lunch at just this time, and grab THIS booth, so you could spend your lunch hour staring at…Hale?”

“Hey don’t judge. We rushed here for the curly fry special,” Stiles waves to the plate in front of him covered in the most unappetizing curly fries to ever be made. Someone took a hair straightener to these fries, their curls are hanging limp, they are more like slightly bent fries. And how do you even cook the curl out of curly-fries? And what was with the soggy, still-wet, greasy look? But whatever, it’s not like Isaac had any idea what a good curly fry even looked like. Thought the fact that the plate was still full and not destroyed within the first three minutes of being placed in front of Stiles probably clued him in. So Stiles reluctantly grabbed a few and bit down to prove a point and…'gross.’ No diner should be able to ruin the most perfect food ever created. Like Curly Fries 101 was mandatory for Diner Chef college.’

“You know this doesn’t count…” Erica cut through Stiles' curly fry woes, her sharp eyes narrowing at Stiles.

“Count? Count as what? Lunch? Work bonding? Friend…well frienemies and food time?”

“As a date, moron. As face time with Hale.”

“Whaaaaaaat?” Stiles stretched out the word and pushed as much disbelief into it as he could. “Obviously I’m here with you two. Not Derek. If anything I'd be on a date with- well not with you two. I mean, I’d be flattered but seriously…no. Just no…” Stiles floundered a bit as his hands waved wildly. Because obviously it wasn’t a date with Derek. They weren’t even at the same table. Sure they are both eating lunch, at the same place, so it’s sorta kinda like a date. Sort of. Sure other coworkers are present but no one else was sitting with Derek, and maybe he’s positioned himself so Hale’s face is between the twintern’s heads so it’s like their sitting across from each other. From two booths away. And Derek has looked up confused and frowning a few times and there was almost eye contact. If Stiles hadn’t immediately ducked his head and averted his eyes to look at Erica or Isaac, each time. So almost same table, check. Almost eye contact check. And their food was delivered at sort of the same time. So it’s at least date adjacent….’ Not that Stiles is repeating any of that to the judgey twinterns. So he’ll just shut up because clearly they aren’t in the mood to believe him, and seriously where’s the trust? At least Derek is here for him…except…wait-

Derek is standing up and frowning, somehow even that looks good on him. And now he’s leaving his table in a rush?!  He's abandoning his food and poor Stiles without so much as a goodbye? Leaving him alone. Well alone with Erica and Isaac who don’t even count, alone to ponder the tragedy of his failed quasi-date-in-the-loosest-sense? Leaving Stiles to be stuck moping over his 'crushed dreams and soggy un-curly fries,’ and if that isn’t the title to the saddest damn song ever…probably a country song. Or the blues. Or like Country-blues….and why are the fashion wonder twins staring at Stiles? Did he say any of that out loud? Or they’re not staring at him. They’re staring…behind him?

Stiles turns his head and realizes the attention of the entire restaurant is focused on two men wearing ski masks. In the middle of summer. In the city. And talk about fashion faux-pas, no wonder Erica and Isaac were staring in horror. Stiles is already turning back to laugh with them over the poor clothing choice when the pieces come together, the light bulb clicks, Sherlock says elementary my dear Watson, and Einstein shouts Eureka!

“Oh shit…is this place being robbed?!” Stiles manages to shout before Erica and Isaac both hiss at him to shut up and in another freaky shared-brain move like all the others that made people joke about them being twinterns even though they are completely unrelated, the two of them duck under the booth's table in a surprisingly coordinated maneuver. They must practice because that was so smooth it might as well have been choreographed. Maybe they perform synchronized escaping? Meanwhile Stiles, with all of his usual excellent self-preservation skills is already pulling out his camera. Because this…this right here? Local robbery, on the scene witness reporting, and mid-robbery photographs. This is just the scoop he was waiting for!

And before he can raise the camera two pairs of hands grab at him and yank with surprising force. Suddenly Stiles is on the floor, head spinning from hitting his padded booth seat, then the table. Before he can even get his bearings his vision is filled with the twin glares of Isaac and Erica.

“Ouch guys, what were you thinking?! You could have broken my camera and my ne-”

“We were thinking that maybe-” Isaac began with a grumble.

“You wouldn’t like to get SHOT, and us with you, for trying to take pictures of the angry gun-toting men in masks!” Erica finished.

“Please,” Stiles waves nonchalantly, “We’ll be fine. It’s Beacon City and that means any minute now-” the sound of a door tearing off it's hinges, an inhuman growl, then a pained grunt, and a minute later a second slightly higher pitched 'ooof,’ was followed by two thumps, and Stiles cut himself off, waiting a second before smiling at the new silence settling over the restaurant. He crawled out from under the table, ignoring the muffled protests from his lunch companions.

  
A quick glance at the entrance revealed both of the now exposed men, one mask knocked off, the other askew. The two of them were laid out on the floor, two heaps of bent and torn metal all that remained of their guns. And standing over them, in a pair of tights and cape that made blue and red look…way better than they had any right to look, was the wolf-mask wearing hero of Beacon City, not even looking winded. Just staring down and daring the two to make a move, with his hands folded across his chest, partially obscuring the howling wolf emblem stretched out between his way too broad shoulders.

“Super wolf saves diners from robbery, criminal curly fry chef still at large,” Stiles muttered possible headlines under his breath as he sneaks his camera out to take as many shots as he can. For the paper of course. There aren't any good pictures of Super wolf, just blurry camera phone pictures. So the people have a right to know and that's why he's clicking his camera like a mad man. Not just so he can have a picture of Super wolf’s chest and thighs and arms and... well all of him. Everything the cape doesn't obscure that is, so no glorious ass pics, sadly. And Stiles is totally with Edna on this now-No capes, apparently they just ruin everything!

And maybe he should slow down his hormones here because, yeah he’s already here on a not-date with disappearing-act-Derek. But he can still admire a work of art when he sees one. And it’s not like he thinks it’s better than Derek’s...attributes…it’s just, Derek only ever wears suit pants and shoulder hugging blazers, while Super wolf is just showing it all off in tights. For the whole world to see. And want.

And Stiles heartbeat picks up at just how sinfully good those tights look, lowering the camera to get a better look without the lens and one eye closed. Which of course is when Super wolf turns and all Stiles can think of for a second is maybe... maybe he can have room in his life for two crushes? Surely Derek wouldn’t mind a little competition, because even with the weird wolf mask-face thing on that hides his eyebrows under a freaky prosthetic brow, and the fake fangs and super long sideburns, and the glowing red eye thing, even with all that disguise going on, Super wolf still has the perfect cheek and jaw thing going on and Stiles bets that without the disguise he looks like hot-damn with a side of Please-sir-may-I-have-another.

“Smile for the Beacon Tribune?” Stiles manages to choke out with a sheepish grin under the weight of Super wolf's glare. He pulls his camera back up on auto-pilot. And suddenly Super wolf is frowning, like a sexy pout-for-the-camera baby, work it, work it, kinda frown. And, then he’s turning away and moving. Fast. Too fast. Like super fast. And maybe this is why there are only blurry photos. Talk about camera shy. And it sucks that Super wolf is leaving but the motion is lifting the cape again and so his camera and his eyes catch a few shots of that glorious super-ass finally exposed from behind the cape of Evil-Unnecessary-Obstruction. And it's just all there, in those tights, which lets be honest are the real super heroes here…holding all of 'that’ in and just…damn. And it’s not even being disloyal to Derek. Stiles is and always will be an ass man and really he's just appreciating the outfit, and how it all comes together.

Stiles is positive that if he could get Derek in a pair of tights and was lucky enough to arrange a side-by-side comparison, he’d be just as hot if not hotter. Of course they’d have to document the study to be sure. With pictures. For science. And the news. And posterity. Or posterior-ity. And talk about cover page material, Lydia would totally make that the front of Fashion & Entertainment, for weeks. Maybe forever. Make it the new logo.

Maybe…maybe he should just get them to stand next to each other and sorta…get behind them and do a quick visual…except Super wolf is already vanishing off into the distance…the flutter of his cape already a fading sound as the rest of the diners slowly crawl around on their hands and knees and Stiles takes stock of his companions finally rolling it from under the table. Then his eyes flash two booths away to the empty table and he remembers.

Derek!? Where did Derek even go? Is he ok? Did he leave before the robbers got here? Or did he pass them coming in? What if they roughed him up before coming in? What if…what if Beacon Tribunes most precious treasure, the future Derek Stilinksi-Hale, was laying outside the diner bruised and bleeding while Stiles was snapping pervy shots of the caped canine crusader?!

Stile’s breath starts to race before he hears a door creak open, jarringly loud in the still tense atmospher. Every eye in the room turns in a panic as Derek walks out of the bathroom, shaking his hands dry with an adorably befuddled and confused look gracing his bespectacled face. Clearly he has no idea why everyone is on the floor. Suddenly Stiles can breathe again. Thank God in heaven for good hygiene. Derek was just in the bathroom…which gross, but still, he was just washing his hands…which he’s apparently been doing for the entire robbery. Yay for cleanliness but…seriously, how can one be a reporter and not be able to smell out a story happening in the same restaurant! Talk about bad instincts! Stiles tsks under his breath and it's apparently louder than he thought because Derek turns to look at him, his eyes narrowing from confused to suddenly very sharp, looking down at his camera and then back up at him.

And this is it. This is his opening. The big chance to finally make an impression. Stiles just has to walk over, shake hands and say, “Hi you probably don’t remember me, I’m just the guy that gets your coffee every morning, Double mocha latte, two sugars, no cream, and damn that’s a sweet drink. And so are you. Sweet that is, not a drink obviously. But anyway, I’m Stiles. We work together. And we totally just survived a traumatic robbery. Maybe we should go sit down somewhere and talk about it, you know, like therapy. Over dinner. Food therapy. Make sure we’re are both ok. Oh and I got some shots of the robbery. Maybe we could write about it. Together.” All he had to do was walk over. And he really should if only to check up on his poor future-husband. Maybe run his hands over him real quick, just to be sure he wasn’t hurt. Stiles' feet are already lifting as he turns his body to head over, when Isaac and Erica finally finish crawling out from their hidey-hole and stand up. Right in Stiles way! They are completely blocking his path and his view, which…RUDE. He doesn’t C-block them. Or V-block in Erica’s case.

With a distracted wave and without bothering to answer their queries, Stiles pushes between them, intent on capitalizing on this golden opportunity to finally have a conversation with Derek…and stops.

He’s gone. Moment passed. Perfect chance missed. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Disappearing-Derek does it again.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr.
> 
> http://blitzdrake.tumblr.com


End file.
